Chapter 19 Plan a Honeymoon #2
My shadows curled with pleasure at how quickly she grasped the implications. “But a honeymoon—”
“Gives us the perfect misdirection.” Her smile turned predatory. “And when they ask about that massive surge of power from Skyspire during the Guild attack—”
“We blame it on our explosive marital bliss.” I couldn’t help but laugh.
“Heroic bloodline, dominion magic… things get intense when we’re together.
I’ll send word ahead to prepare for my bride.
No one else needs to know about the Alchemist. We meet them under a social pretext, conduct our business privately, and get back to the Western Realms before Auremar realizes we’re gone. ”
Arabella’s eyes gleamed. “Plus, no one questions newlyweds wanting privacy. We’ll have freedom to move about the Spire unencumbered.”
I reached for her then, unable to resist. My hand slid from her waist to cup the curve of her ass through her gown. I pulled her flush against me, letting her feel the effect her words had. “Do you have any idea how attractive you are right now?”
“Because of my face or my devious mind?” She tilted her head, challenge in her voice.
“Both.” My voice dropped lower as I trailed my fingers up her spine.
“Just try to remember it’s a cover story, my lord,” she whispered, her fingers tangling in my hair. “We have an alchemist to see and not a lot of time before we need to be back here, dealing with a mad king.”
Thorne cleared his throat. Loudly.
“You heard the lady, Thorne,” I said, still holding Arabella’s gaze. “We’re going on our honeymoon. Prepare accordingly.”
Thorne escaped while we were distracted, probably to warn the others that we were in one of our moods. The ones where we couldn’t seem to stop orbiting each other, trading barbs that were really just foreplay.
“We should finish packing,” Arabella said finally, though she didn’t move away. “This is stupid, isn’t it? Walking into the Syndicate’s stronghold with the Heirloom literally fused to my head?”
I pulled back enough to meet her eyes. “Probably.”
She studied me with those hazel eyes that saw too much. “You want to know what the Alchemist knows. About the Heirloom. About us. About what’s coming.”
She wasn’t wrong. The Syndicate had been suspiciously quiet since their last visit. No threats, no demands, just waiting. It made my skin crawl. And if the Alchemist could give us a heads-up, it would make the trip worth it.
Arabella placed a kiss on my lips. “Just promise me that if this goes badly—and it probably will because our plans always go sideways—we handle it together. No heroic sacrifices. No sending me away for my own good.”
The thought of anyone trying to take her from me made my runes burn hot enough that she flinched.
“Sorry,” I said, forcing the rage down. “I promise.” I meant it with every rune carved into my bones. I sat in a chair and pulled her into my lap. “Anyone who tries to separate us will discover exactly why I’m called the Terror of the Western Realms.”
She smiled. “Your ego needs its own cabin on the ship.”
“Lord Blackrose?” Griffin’s voice drifted from the corridor. “Should I pack the emergency explosion containment kit? Just in case?”
I closed my eyes. “Are you planning to bring something that might explode?”
“Um—”
“Overboard, Griffin.”
His footsteps retreated, followed immediately by a crash and creative cursing.
“We’re all going to die,” I muttered.
“But at least it won’t be boring,” Arabella agreed cheerfully.
Nothing with her ever was.
By the time we’d finally finished the travel preparations late that night, I was ready to burn the whole citadel to the ground for a moment of peace.
Griffin tried to smuggle three separate “definitely not explosive” devices into his luggage, Sebastian kept sprouting thorny vines and rhyming, and Thorne had threatened to tie them both to the outside of the ship.
The exhaustion hit me all at once as Arabella and I climbed the stairs to our chambers.
Between the invasion attempt, rebuilding the dungeon wards, and now this impromptu journey, I’d had three days of almost no sleep.
My runes ached with a deep, bone-weary pain that no amount of posturing could hide.
“I swear to every dark god that ever existed, I’m going to set something on fire,” I muttered, already unbuttoning my coat.
Arabella wrapped an arm around my waist. I wasn’t sure if the gesture was for her benefit or mine. “You already set three things on fire today.”
“Those were demonstrations of what happens when people won’t stop asking me stupid questions,” I growled, my hand landing on the heavy door to our rooms. “We have less than three days to prepare for what’s obviously a trap, and I’m fielding inquiries about whether we need to bring extra pillows.”
Arabella leaned against the door, a tired smile gracing her freckled face. “I need a bath.” She began pulling her hair from its braid. “And then I need you to do unspeakable things to me so I can stop thinking about tomorrow.”
“I can manage that.”
She glanced up at me, one eyebrow raised. “You look ready to collapse.”
“I’m never too tired for unspeakable things.”
She laughed, shaking her golden hair free. “Liar. But I’m up for a quickie if you are.”
“Quick can be good.” I was already loosening the laces of her dress. “Very good, if done right.”
Her hands moved to my belt. “Yeah?”
I unlocked the heavy door with renewed enthusiasm.
Only to be greeted with a blast of freezing air.
The large gothic window stood wide open, autumn wind howling through the room. The fire in the hearth guttered and sparked. Papers from the desk swirled in miniature cyclones across the floor.
But that wasn’t what made me reach for my magic.
Arabella wrinkled her nose. “What is that smell? Did the servants forget to collect our swamp clothes?”
“No,” I said, my gaze fixed on our bed. “That’s not it.”
A human arm was lying on the sheets—pale and bloated, with a greenish tinge creeping along the mottled flesh. The dirty sleeve clung wetly to the skin, and the whole thing ended in a ragged, torn mess where it had been severed—or more accurately, worried off by teeth rather than cleanly cut.
The fingers were artfully arranged in an obscene gesture.
“Is that…” Arabella moved closer, her voice far too calm for the situation. “That’s Lightbringer’s sleeve.”
“Seems like it.” The bedding was ruined, but at least there wasn’t much blood. “But I distinctly remember leaving his body to rot in the swamp, not bringing it home as a trophy for your case.”
“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” Arabella groaned, rushing to the open window. “Nyx!”
A rumbling purr echoed from somewhere above us. The dragon. I stared at the severed arm. At our violated bed. Then at the open window framing a stormy sky.
“Why?” I managed to choke out.
“She’s still angry I didn’t listen when she tried to warn us about the escape.”
“How did she even get in here? The window’s too small.”
“She’s been getting into smaller and smaller spaces these days.
It’s how she gets to Griffin’s familiars.
But it might also be shadow-walking.” Arabella’s voice held a note of wonder.
“I’ve been reading about shadow dragon development.
When they reach a certain age, they can slip between shadows, existing in both the material plane and the shadow realm.
Usually, it doesn’t manifest this early.
Mature shadow dragons use it as a pathway.
” She gestured around the room. “They step into one shadow and emerge from another, regardless of distance.”
I glanced at the dark corners of our chamber. “She could be here right now?”
“She’s not. I can feel her sulking on top of the tower.”
I glared at the arm in disgust. With a sharp gesture and a pulse of magic, I vanished the entire mess—the arm, the sheets, the bedding, even the pillows. The mattress underneath was thankfully unsoiled. “That was our best bedding.”
“You have twelve sets exactly like it.”
“Had. Now I have eleven.” I flicked my wrist, and the window slammed shut, the latch clicking into place.
Arabella shivered. “I’m freezing.”
Another gesture, and the fire roared back to life, flooding the room with warmth. I pulled her down onto the bare mattress, rolling so she was beneath me. “I can warm you just fine.”
“Mmm.” Her hands slipped under my shirt, and I flinched as her cold fingers trailed over my abdomen. “Nyx can’t come to the God Spire.”
I pulled back slightly. “Obviously not. We’d be inviting a war if she decided to pull a stunt like this on the Alchemist.”
“She won’t understand that.”
I groaned, dropping my forehead to rest against hers. “Do you want me to tell her?”
Arabella laughed. “You can’t intimidate a dragon into good behavior.”
“Watch me.”
“Kaz.”
“Fine.” I trailed kisses down her neck, feeling a surge of satisfaction when she squirmed beneath me. “What do you suggest?”
“We give her a job. Make her feel important. Maybe patrol duty while we’re gone?”
I nipped at her collarbone. “You want to leave a vindictive teenage dragon in charge of something?”
“With Vex supervising, obviously.”
It wasn’t the worst idea. Nyx was protective of Skyspire now that she considered it her territory. And Vex had a way with difficult personalities. She managed me, after all.
“I’ll consider it,” I said finally.
“Good.” Arabella’s hands pulled at the hem of my shirt. “Now, where were we?”
“I was about to prove that quick can be very, very good.”
Her breathing hitched as my mouth moved lower, tasting the skin just above the neckline of her dress. “Kaz, what if the Alchemist wants something we can’t give?”
“Then we get creative,” I said, my voice muffled against her skin. “We lie, we cheat, we burn the whole Spire down if we have to.”
“Oh. Well in that case—” Her thought was cut off by a sharp gasp as my hand slid up her thigh and found the right spot.